Because when it comes time to toss something, I am often possessed by the ghost of my great-grandmother Nana, who was temporarily homeless with four children to care for, all on her own, during the Great Depression. Afterward, she kept everything--even rubber bands, old magazines, and stray cats. (I wouldn't be surprised to find out she laundered and reused dental floss or condoms. She washed plastic, disposable fast food straws, you guys. FROM MCDONALD'S.)
As a result, I own everything on Planet Earth. Oh, you might think you have belongings, but go look for it. It's in my room! My room is a junk city where goblins store everything they've stolen from mankind. Or it was, until I actually started liquidation.
So I am quite proud to present the first success: a pile of clothing I am getting rid of!
For reference, this dog weighs fifty-snazillion pounds.
It contains mostly old work shirts I've had to admit are too big for me (all shirts are too big for me), gifts from my well-meaning but hopelessly unfashionable mother, and some really awesome goth clothes that I'm sure a fourteen-year old girl would swoon over, but I have better ones now. Run forthwith to the Salvation Army, little Twitards, as that's where this black velvet Renaissancy shirt is going! And the sparkling pantaloons in size bigger-ass-than-Sän-has!
Don't applaud yet, though, since the pile hasn't actually left my now-mostly-uncluttered room. I could still freak out and change my mind. After all, I might need that Bertie costume again! Or that scarf, or that other scarf, or those other six scarves. Or those boots that don't fit, or these underwear that inexplicably came from my ex-boyfriend's dead grandfather.
...Yeah, I'm keeping those.